Blue
by Mawsh
Summary: John wasn't lucky enough to die when the outbreak hit Raccoon City. Now he's looking for a shovel and a gun while he still has time.
1. Part One

**Author's Note:** I wrote_ Blue_ while I was out of ideas for _Wesker's New Life_. I couldn't think of anything funny, so instead I switched gears and instead wrote something sad. _Blue_ is what I ended up writing. It's a short fic that only has two parts to it and has only original characters. It's another perspective on the Raccoon City incident and I hope you take the time to read it, and enjoy!

(I only own my OC's. I own nothing Capcom owns.)

* * *

**Blue

* * *

**

John ran as far as his legs could take him, then collapsed under a street light.

The street felt cold beneath him, his face pressed against the black, grainy surface. His arms were folded above his head as he tried desperately to block out the sound of the screams.

Unfortunately for him, the screams were in his head.

Mind swimming, his limbs like lead, John fought waves of nausea and searing pain in an attempt to drag himself back to his feet. He felt a white hot jolt of pain explode in his left leg as he tried to move it and his arms promptly gave. John fell back on his stomach and could feel the skin of his cheek scrape against the ground when he landed.

John laid there for a while and quietly began to sob to himself. His body was covered in sweat and fresh blood that chilled him when the cool night air washed over him. He shivered and somehow managed to roll onto his back.

Looking up, John could make out the faint border between cloud and sky and the waning moon that drifted behind them. With most of the lights out in the city it was possible to see the stars that twinkled bluish white behind the dark haze of the clouds. Raccoon City was quiet.

Directly above him a lone streetlight bathed the immediate area in a yellowish light. A few moths flew around the bulb, as oblivious to John and the city as the moon and stars above them. For a moment John could almost imagine how beautiful things might seem under any other circumstance. He tried, in a moment of delusion, to pretend it was so, but the pain would not let him. It kept him in the present.

John wrapped his arms around him when another breeze chilled him. He was dressed too lightly for the cold September night, wearing only a thin t-shirt and a pair of shorts he had gone to bed in. He did not remember putting on his shoes when he ran from his home, but there they were on his feet. The left shoe was stained crimson from John's wound that was just above his ankle.

John looked around himself briefly, making sure none of those _things_ were around. When he was certain he was safe for the time being he relaxed and began to prop himself up on his elbows.

His mind was still racing, as was his heart, but he tried to remain calm and focused. He tried not to think about what he had encountered in his home, or what was waiting for him. Instead he focused on the immediate task in front of him: finding a shovel and a gun.

Despite running blindly from his house, John recognized where he had ended up and knew the local hardware store would only be a few blocks away. He was certain they would have a shovel. The problem was getting there.

John had no idea how he had managed to run as far and as fast as he had with the injury to his leg, but was certain he would no longer be able to move with any sort of agility. Running was out of the question and he hoped he still had enough strength in him to walk there. At this point, John would drag himself there if he had to. That, however, would become problematic for his next following tasks.

He decided to try getting to his feet again. His leg was throbbing and he wanted nothing more than to just lay in the street and die, but he would get up simply because he had to. For John right now there was no other way.

And so, with great effort, John worked his way to his feet. His body fought against him but for the moment mind had won over matter.

He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand and winced when he put weight on his injured leg. He fought through the pain, and pressed his hand against his side. John seemed to have bruised his ribs falling.

Not only was John in no condition to fight, but he was in no condition to flee either. If one of those things managed to catch up to him John would have no chance for escape. Formulating a brief plan, John decided to stick to the shadows and make as little noise as possible. He did not know how the creatures detected prey, but if it was through sight or sound John would do everything in his power to stay hidden.

Another breeze blew through the street and nearby John could hear a rustling in the bushes that was independent of the wind. John pushed forward, unsure of what was moving but damn sure that he wasn't going to find out.

* * *

John's pace was slower than he liked. He was injured and trying to remain silent yet at the same time trying to move as fast as he could. This resulted in him not so much as limping or walking slowly as he was _shambling _up the street and into the dark shade of a narrow alleyway.

The silence that John was growing accustomed to faded as he entered the alley. He could hear the sound of a fire burning in the distance. He could also detect a faint smell of smoke in the air. But that wasn't important to John at the moment, as he also heard and smelled something incredibly close by…

The smell of rotting flesh, and the sound of gnashing teeth.

John gagged and put his hand over his nose and mouth and pressed his body against the wall of the building. He inched slowly to the other side of the alleyway that opened out into the next street. Soon he was at the end of the shadows and the edge of the building. From here he could see _them_. It was the creatures, and they were feeding on some poor man.

John bit into his bottom lip and tried his best not to vomit as he watched the creatures. There were two of them and they were too absorbed in the meal to see John. Unfortunately John wished he could not see _them_.

Tattered, dirty clothing adorned their sickly frames. Their skin was gray, cracking and rotting off in places. The victim's bright red blood dripped down their mouths and fronts. Hair was greasy and on the verge of falling out. Eyes were milky white, irises and pupil's gone, and shining like the moon in the darkness.

John wondered if he could slip by unnoticed. The street was lit better than the alley was and as a result John would be easier to spot. He couldn't fight and couldn't run, so if the creatures saw him he would be an easy target. They were however… _preoccupied _so perhaps slipping by would be possible afterall.

John shifted his weight forward and slipped his arm out of the alley. Taking his arm, he wrapped it around the corner of the building and did his best to hug the wall.

Suddenly one of the creatures stopped feeding and jerked it's head up, and fixed it's dead, white eyes directly at John as blood dribbled out of it's mouth.

John froze, his heart was beating so loud and fast he was sure the creature could hear it. He considered trying to get away as quickly as he could, but he wondered exactly how far he would be able to get before the creature would catch up to him. Not to mention how fucked he would be if any more creatures spotted him along the way. He decided to remain still and see if the creature would stand and leave it's meal for another.

Seconds passed torturously. John wondered why the creature was simply staring at him, it's mouth stupidly agape, and it's dead eyes as blank as it's expression. And, just as suddenly as it looked at him, it turned back to it's meal as continued eating with it's partner.

John had no time to breathe a sigh of relief. Instead he celebrated his momentary safety by getting the hell out of dodge. He turned the corner of the alley and shambled his way down the street. Once he hit the corner he peeked his head around it.

John was surprised that he did not find any more of the creatures. Looking the opposite way he could make out a few shapes in the distance, but thankfully he was not going down that way.

On this street the sounds of fire and the smell of smoke was growing increasingly stronger. Something was definitely burning, but from here John could not see what it was. He pressed on , taking in the eerie sights around him.

John knew that almost everyone should be dead. He wondered, then, if those that died and reanimated were still in their homes. There were creatures out and about of course, John had encountered proof of that not a minute ago, but from the looks of things the streets were fairly sparse.

Since there were multiple cases independent of each other it was not a stretch to imagine that this was the work of some kind of illness. Yet how can people be infected when they are isolated in their homes?

John did not really feel like contemplating this, so he did not. Instead he took in the silent scenery. The buildings that loomed over him, brick and mortar that stood tall and defiant in the wake of this disaster, yet housing so many of the creatures that, perhaps, the building themselves were infected. The windows were dark, some harboring moving shapes that John could not make out, but did not want to anyway.

The street was clean. At first glance nothing appeared out of the ordinary. In fact, it looked like a movie set more than it did a city street. Not that it wasn't real, the place was plenty real, it was just devoid of… _life_. The streets, the buildings, were lifeless. As if no one lived there.

Truthfully, no one did. At least, not any more.

John considered this fact. He realized he could not live in his home anymore. But this was something he was aware of from the moment he ran from his house. The moment he was bitten the possibility of things returning to normal evaporated like a white breath in the cold night.

John's life had taken a drastic turn that night, the same way everyone else's did in Raccoon City. John had just been unlucky enough to have lived through the initial outbreak.

Though, considering the fact that the virus must be transmitted somehow… he figured a bite was a good a way as any.

John pressed on. Time was of the essence and it was waning fast. John turned another corner, but froze in his tracks when he spotted the hardware store.

It was on fire.

* * *

He stood dumbstruck at the burning building before him. Inside was the shovel he needed, but he wasn't sure how he was actually going to get one if the building was currently a raging inferno.

Worse yet, there were about three creatures in front of the store. They also happened to be on fire. If that wasn't enough, they were making their way towards John. Slowly, but surely they would be on him.

"Great." Was all John could seem to muster in what seemed like a cruel joke God was playing on him.

Tonight hell came to Earth but John missed the memo. It was almost comedic in a tragic sort of way.

Arms outstretched towards John, the creatures were dragging their feet and hobbling his way. The flames consumed their clothing, and burned their flesh but they seemed ignorant of the pain. Their mouths hung open but the bodies themselves were barely visible through the flames. All John could think of at that moment was getting away, and getting away _fast_. Not easy, however, when your top speed is little more than the creatures themselves.

John had no time to mull over a plan of action and with his own clock ticking down he decided to head straight for the hardware store and try to skirt the fiery creatures.

He moved at a slow pace and cut across the street in a diagonal line that brought him behind the creatures. John had the advantage of being vastly more mobile than the dead things that pursued him. It would take them some time to turn his way and continue their pursuit. Plus, he wasn't on fire.

The heat of the fire was in stark contrast the cool night's air and John briefly felt better in the hot glow of the flames. He guessed, however, that it would become unbearable soon enough. Especially when it would be time to actually retrieve the shovel he was looking for.

Behind him the creatures were pivoting slowly to face him. John took a brief moment to figure out a point of entry into the flaming hardware store. This was a dangerous proposition anyway he looked at it: Even if John managed a way in that wouldn't set him ablaze instantly there was the issue of smoke inhalation. Worse yet, how long would he have until the foundation gave and brought the ceiling down on top of him?

He noticed the flames seemed especially powerful in front of the store. It was possible the fire was isolated here and would not be as strong in the back. From where he was standing he could see a parking lot behind the building and a pair of dumpsters. John figured the store had a back door. If it was open or if he could get it open the back of the store seemed to be the most viable and least dangerous way in.

Unfortunately since it was September there was a good chance the shovels would be _up front _and directly in the flames.

Still, John didn't have a better idea than that. This was also the only hardware store he knew of in the area. With the creatures bearing down on him there was no time for alternatives. It would have to be all of nothing.

Taking a deep breath, John made his way for the parking lot behind the hardware store.

* * *

John rounded the block as hastily as he could manage. He wasn't sure just how long the creatures could last before being reduced to a pile of ashes but for the moment they were still tailing him. Luckily there weren't any more of them in the parking lot when he reached it.

John made his way to the back of the hardware store and felt his heart leap when he saw that the door was ajar. He was nearly dragging his injured leg when he reached for the knob. It was cold to the touch!

_No flames in the back. _He thought.

He was just about to throw open the door but he paused momentarily. What if there were more of them inside? What if the owner had turned and John ran right into him?

John shook his head. He would have to take his chances. John opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

* * *

Closing the door was a decision that John regretted immediately. The store's back room was dark and filled with smoke. John coughed and felt his eyes water. Instinctively he turned to reach for the door but stopped himself when he heard the muffled groans of the creatures on the other side.

There would be no going back now.

John grabbed his shirt and brought it up over his nose. With one hand cupped over his mouth and nose, John kept as low as he could and felt around in the dark for the door to the front of the store.

His fingers grazed the door knob and felt it was hot to the touch. He grit his teeth, grasped the hot knob and threw the door open. The roar of the fire greeted him, and John gasped when he saw that most of the store was burning.

The flames reached the ceiling, drenching John and the back room in an orange and red glow that caused John to sweat. Every instinct in John's mind screamed at him to turn and leave. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, and the heat was not helping either. From the doorway where John stood his eyes searched the hardware store shelves, trying to make out where the shovels might be.

Then, he saw them. Directly in the center of the store, roughly twenty feet from where he stood. All around him the fire roared, and the smoke choked at his senses, but he needed a shovel, so he pressed forward.

John inched forward, careful not to get too close to the flames. His eyes were tearing up and his vision swam but he continued on. John's limbs grew heavy and his dropped to his knees.

He was so close. The shovels were just an arms length away. John placed one hand on the ground, and reached forward with the other. His shirt slipped from his nose and he held his breath. The shovels were just out of reach.

John got on his belly and began to crawl to the shovels. He felt dizzy, he felt like he was dying, but he needed to get the shovel. He must have felt himself begin to lose consciousness, because he could almost swear he heard the sound of a police siren.

Fingertips grazed the shovel stand and John grasped at it. He pulled at it and the stand fell over. The shovels fell around him with a loud clatter. The sounds of the police siren grew louder just as he managed to wrap his hand around the base of one of the shovels.

Then John lost consciousness.

* * *

To Be Concluded...


	2. Part Two

**Blue**

* * *

John could smell the grass. Fresh and dewy, it brought him out of his slumber and filled his lungs with its sweet aroma.

His eyes opened and he could see the rolling hills and the green grass that stretched endlessly before him. Above him the sun was shining and the sky was cloudless.

"John, are you all right honey?"

The sound of her voice caused John's heart to beat fast. A wave of warmth washed over him as he sat up and looked over at his wife.

"Elizabeth?"

"You fell asleep, John."

Elizabeth looked up at the sky. Her hair was long and blonde, her face soft and sweet. She wore a white dress that rolled with the wind, much like the grass that they sat on. To John she was a vision and he loved her very dearly.

"I had a hell of a dream."

"I bet you did." Elizabeth's face slowly turned into a frown. "John, you need to save yourself."

"Huh?" John sat upright, looking over at Elizabeth with a bewildered look on his face. "What are you talking about."

Above them the sky turned dark, a storm cloud was brewing. It would rain.

"John I-"

Elizabeth's eyes turned stark white. Her mouth fell open, and the skin of her face rotted off in an instant. She reached for John, and John screamed as loudly as he could.

* * *

"ELIZABETH!" John shouted, nearly jumping to his feet until a firm hand pressed against his chest.

"Easy, John. Easy…" The hand belonged to an officer of the law, a woman.

"Who are you?" John asked worriedly. "How do you know my name?"

John looked around, he seemed to be in the back of an armored police van the way it looked. There were guns locked behind a cage on the racks and the tiny cubicle was coated in riveted steel. There was no movement, however, so John assumed this woman was by herself.

"I checked your wallet when I found you in that hardware store." She grimaced. "What were you doing in there?"

"I was …" He paused. "Looking for something."

The woman reached over and grabbed a shovel. "You mean this?"

John reached for the shovel eagerly, but the officer pulled it back. "These streets aren't safe anymore. Something's happened to the people here. It's…"

She hung her head and remained silent for a moment. John tried to get off of the cot he was laying on, but she put her hand on his chest.

"Listen officer.. Ah…"

"Officer Clarke." She answered. "Sarah Clarke."

"Listen, I appreciate you helping me out, Sarah. You saved my life… But I need to get going."

"Weren't you listening John? This city's not safe anymore. For god sakes, you've been bitten! Don't you have any sense?"

"I do. Enough sense to know I don't have much time."

Officer Clarke opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She would not lie to John.

"I have to go." John said again.

"Fine." She relented. "But at least tell me where you're going."

John looked away and said simply, "Home."

"Where's that?"

"Flower Street."

Sarah nodded. "Can I give you a lift there, at least?"

It was John's turn to relent. "Fine. But please don't try and talk me out of it."

"I wont. I… ah- I understand your situation."

* * *

The drive to John's house was relatively uneventful. There were a few of the creatures wandering the streets, but they were too slow and no match for the armored vehicle.

John sat in relative silence, glancing quietly out the window. Sarah had obviously driven him part way to the police station, because they were a nowhere near the store where John had collapsed. He watched as they drove past building after building and watched the creatures prowl the streets. It was their city now, but they had no conscious knowledge of that.

"Is the whole world like this?" John asked, turning back to Sarah.

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know. I can't contact anyone outside the city. It's strange, like we were isolated from the rest of the world in one night."

"Are there any more officers alive?"

Sarah nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. "A few. As of right now the Police Station is holding up. We set up barricades. I took the van and started patrolling for survivors. I only found you."

"I'm not much of a survivor."

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to the station with me? It's safe… Who knows.. There might be a cure."

John's vision swam momentarily. For a second he felt like he did back at the hardware store: unbearably hot and weak in his limbs. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes and rubbed them.

"You all right, John?" Sarah looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"I'm fine." He lied, and leaned against the door of the van. "I just need to get home. Fast."

Sarah nodded and pressed her foot on the gas. John closed his eyes and drifted off to an uneasy slumber.

* * *

John was having a nightmare when Sarah woke.

"John," Sarah said, shaking him. "John were on Flower Street."

John slowly woke from his sleep. He was momentarily dizzy, and he did not know why. He sat up and placed a hand on his forehead and felt that it was extremely hot. His head felt heavy and his body felt cold.

"John, you have a fever." Sarah bit her lip. "You're.. getting sick."

"I know." John said simply.

Sarah looked at John for a few seconds before she spoke. "Uhm. Here.."

Sarah unclasped the holster on her hip and withdrew her pistol. She turned it in her hand, and offered the handle to John. "For protection. The safety's on."

John nodded and grabbed the weapon. He felt the weight in his hand and looked it over before lowering it. "Thanks Sarah. You've helped me greatly, I mean it."

"Are you going to be all right?"

John looked at her, and for the first time that night he smiled a small, slanted smile. "Nope."

"Oh, John." Sarah was beginning to tear. "I'm so sorry."

For a moment, John really looked at Sarah and, for a moment, he could see a bit of his late wife in her. The caring eyes, the soft face. It was like a haunting memory of a world that no longer existed. John himself was tearing up when he reached for the door handle.

"Thank you Sarah."

* * *

John had left the door to his house open when he ran from it earlier that night. For a moment he feared that his wife might had escaped into the cold September night.

He stepped through the front door and reached for the light switch. The living room and the hall was bathed in a pale light. He had the urge to call his wife's name, but felt that it would be of no use.

His wife was dead. And so was John. It was just a small matter of finding peace now.

John propped the shovel against the wall and put two hands on the gun that Sarah had given him. His injured leg was swollen and it was becoming harder and harder to walk the more time had passed. He would have to finish things quickly.

Once this house was a happy home. John would often spend the day in his study working on his drawings. He would pay extra attention to the lines and the contours of the buildings he designed, from the placement of the rooms to the locations of the bathrooms relative to the bedrooms. When he designed he tried to imagine the type of people who would live in them and what they would want from their home. It was the same kind of care he put into the plans for his own home, the one he was in now. The one he moved into with Elizabeth after they had married.

His home, like the homes of the rest of Raccoon city, were no longer happy. No longer did they harbor that spark of life that their inhabitants gave them. His home was now a home of ghosts and memories gone by. Just like the Raccon City as a whole. A ghost town. A lost city that once held the spark of life.

John heard something creak on the stair case. He raised the weapon and took a cautious step out of the living room and into the adjacent hall.

There she was. Long, blonde hair and that familiar, soft face. She reached out for him, her mouth slightly open. It was Elizabeth, John's wife.

But it wasn't. At least, it wasn't anymore. This… thing before him was not his wife. His wife was dead. This was an abomination. A perversion of life. An example of the very sickness that tore a swath through this city and killed it in one fell swoop. A twisted reflection of a lost memory. A creature of unlife.

John raised the gun and fired one shot. The sound was not unlike thunder and it echoed through the entire house. The creature shook in spasm and crumpled to the floor.

"It's almost over, Elizabeth." John said, approaching the body of his dead wife.

* * *

The next few hours were grueling, but luckily John had no company in the form of more of those creatures.

John worked through the pain and his illness to dig as deep as he could in his front yard. After several hours of digging John had a respectable mound of dirt next to him and a hole in the ground he figured was deep enough.

The first traces of sunlight were peaking through the tops of the buildings when John had lowered his wife down into the hole. Despite his illness he had enough strength in him for this last task.

Once Elizabeth had been lowered John looked at her silently. He took a moment to remember the way things used to be before he reached for the gun near by. John stood and turned from the grave. He closed his eyes and pressed the pistol to his head.

Before he pulled the trigger John said only one thing. "Elizabeth."

Thanks to the virus, Elizabeth had been lost and was replaced by one of those creatures.

In death she was now Elizabeth once more. His wife, finally, at peace.

And finally John would join her in that peace.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Sarah pulled the van on the side of the road and grabbed her spare pistol. John had been explicit in his desires to be left alone, but Sarah could not help but to check in on him. If he had turned, she would make sure John found his peace.

When she stepped out of the van, however, Sarah saw the mound of dirt in front of the house and immediately understood what John had done. She holstered her pistol and made her way to the grave that John had dug.

She peered into the hole and stepped back. Was that woman his wife? It must have been, it explained John's insistence of going back to his home.

"Oh John." Sarah sighed, and spotted the shovel near by.

With her mind made up, Sarah reached for the shovel. She would finish John's task that he started earlier that night. It was the least she could do after all he had been through.

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
